


Tricks of the Trade

by Azzandra



Series: Philipa "Pippa" Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Magic Tricks for Fun and PDA, Slow Burn, kink meme fill, non-canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and the Inquisitor trade magic tricks, and learn a bit more along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill [for a kink meme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=53396096#t53396096): _Solas and Trevelyan (established? flirty? I don't mind, just no Solas self-hate) exchange magic tricks. Solas teaches her magic that most likely would have caused her to get the brand, and Trevelyan teaches him circle mage tricks that he overlooked because he assumed it was useless._

 

As often happened when both Solas and Dorian accompanied the Inquisitor on her journeys across Thedas, evening saw them both gravitating towards the campfire, to share a simple dinner and attempt to maintain polite discourse for as long as possible.

"I notice you use a nullification enchantment combined with an offensive attack," Solas remarked, in between picking at his bowl of food.

"The nullification disrupts any ambient magic lying about," Dorian explained, an excessively pleased look on his face as he punctuated his words with a wave of the spoon. "Things then burn hotter."

Solas hummed thoughtfully to himself.

"Don't you then waste an inordinate amount of magic overcoming your own nullification?" he asked.

"Ah, no. I warp the Veil slightly to affect distance between the spells."

"Of course. Have you considering snapping the Veil-warp to enhance the relative energy?"

"Like cracking a whip? Yes, tried it once." Dorian grimaced. "Made my teeth taste funny."

The conversation stalled for a moment, as Dorian just then noticed that the Inquisitor had wandered nearby at some point and had been listening quietly. 

There was, Solas noted, a particular look on Pippa Trevelyan's face, that he usually only ever saw when she was skulking around with Sera. A smile that would have seemed innocuous on anyone else's face. Dorian remained oblivious to it.

"Ah, Inquisitor," Dorian said, still very much pleased with himself, "I apologize, we are not discussing the creative application of ice sculpture on the battlefield, else I am sure you would be schooling us on the subject."

The cat-that-ate-the-canary expression on Pippa's face became even more pronounced at that.

"That's quite alright, Dorian, I have other subjects I may school you in," she replied.

This intrigued Dorian. 

In truth, it even intrigued Solas. She did not usually participate in their discussions. Even Vivienne could be drawn into the occasional debate, if only for the sake of posturing, but Pippa always claimed that too much rarefied theory gave her altitude sickness. As excuses went, it seemed just that: a way out of a conversation in which her inadequate Circle training left her outmatched. Her magic was straightforward, relying more on clever use of environment rather than elegance of spellwork.

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" he asked, grinning. "Care to give us an example?"

Pippa sat down on the other end of the log bench Dorian was occupying, straddling it so she faced him. 

"I found a copper the other day," she said, and produced the coin.

It was rare to find these anymore. Conflict across Orlais and Ferelden had made inflation so bad, that most days the coppers were worth more melted down for base materials. She'd probably scrounged it from some chest or crate she looted.

"You can have it, if you guess right," she said.

"Guess right? What am I guessing?" Dorian laughed.

Pippa raised both her hands towards Dorian. She closed them both, her right fist enclosing on the coin, but then when she opened them again, her right hand was empty and the coin was in her left.

Dorian's eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Translocation," he said. "You warped a small pocket in the Veil, slipped the coin in it, and then took it out in your other hand."

"Nope," Pippa said, now moving on to flipping the coin over the back of her knuckles. "Two guesses left."

"You didn't mention there was a limit," Dorian pointed out.

"Not like your first guess would've been different," she shrugged. "Anything else?"

Dorian narrowed his eyes, considering more carefully.

"Illusion," he pronounced.

"Solid coin," Pippa said, tapping it against the bench.

Dorian took longer with his third guess, but despite the fact that he launched into an explanation that sounded like it was going to be several minutes long, after the first ten words, Pippa cut him off.

"Still no."

"Well, this game turned out to be no fun at all," Dorian huffed. "Perhaps our spectator can do better?" He turned and gave a meaningful look to Solas.

Solas gave Pippa a thin smile.

"It was a sleight of hand," he offered. "You used no magic at all."

A grin split Pippa's face and Dorian made an offended sound.

"That's no fair at all!" Dorian protested.

"Now, Dorian, I never said I  _wasn't_  a bald-faced liar," Pippa laughed.

"Truly, your baseline for honesty should serve as an inspiration to us all," Dorian said dryly.

He dumped out the remains of his dinner and swanned off to sleep, leaving only Pippa and Solas by the fire. Near everyone else had turned in as well, making the camp quiet but bright, as it was bathed in light from the campfire and the two moons.

As Solas finished his own dinner, Pippa moved to sit next to him, where she could keep her voice low.

"I don't think Dorian appreciated the trick," Solas told her.

"I don't think I appreciate him sniping about southern mages, but here we are," she replied. But after the initial burst of pettiness, her lips tightened into a line and she shook her head. "I'll make it up to him. Anyway."

She showed Solas the coin.

"Heads," she said, pointing to one side, and then to the other, "tails. Flip it."

She handed him the coin. Curious, Solas did as she requested.

"Heads," she called as the coin was in the air. 

It indeed landed heads.

"Keep flipping it," she instructed.

Solas did so, and she guessed correctly every single time, to the point that it became obvious it was not mere coincidence. He could feel the subtle workings of magic this time, so delicate that a lesser mage would have missed it completely, but he couldn't quite grasp the spell.

"You've made your point, I think," he said, handing her back the coin after a few dozen flips. "Do I also get three guesses?"

"Sure," she replied. "I really did use magic this time, though."

He quirked a smile at her.

"And already you are improving on your baseline for honesty," he said.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, routing out a nest of lyrium smugglers, Pippa did indeed make it up to Dorian. As a pair of particularly large and rough individuals somehow bypassed Cassandra and headed directly for him, Pippa managed to trap one of them in ice, and hit the other one in the face with a blast from her staff. This resulted in one smuggler falling on the other's sword. 

It was an impressive feat of timing, and one that managed to delay them long enough for Cassandra to catch up with them and finish them off. 

"I have to admit," Dorian said afterwards, "what you lack in panache, you certainly make up in slapstick."

Pippa grinned and adjusted her glove primly.

"What can I say," she said. "Some people live on in legend. I hope to live on in comedy, at the very least."

If Dorian held on to any hurt feelings after the previous evening's game, he most likely let them go after that.

 

* * *

 

 

Their business in the Hinterlands concluded for the moment, the next day was meant for rest and resupply before they began the journey back to Skyhold. The perk being, of course, that they could sleep in.

So the sun was quite high up in the sky by the time they were woken by a particularly loud bark of laughter outside the tent. 

Solas stirred awake and rolled over to see Pippa poke her head out from under her own blanket and blink blearily at him. Her hair, nearly the same shade of brown as her skin, was a complete mess and stuck horrendously, every which way. It actually looked better after she sank a hand into it and tousled it vigorously.

"Morning," she croaked to Solas, sitting up on her cot and putting her feet on the ground.

"Good morning," he returned, and rose to get dressed.

It always took her a while to get her bearings in the morning, especially when she wasn't woken by an impending battle, so he paid her no heed while she sat there, staring at her slowly curling and uncurling toes.

He usually slept in his leggings and his undershirt when sharing a tent, and so getting dressed was merely a matter of pulling on his tunic and wrapping his legs. The first item of business proceeded as expected, but when he sat down with his leg wraps, Pippa's eyes grew large and she looked at him as if about to voice a pressing thought.

"Is everything alright, Inquisitor?" he asked, pausing.

She pointed to the wraps.

"Can you show me how to do that?" she asked, voice still slurring with sleep.

His brows drew together in confusion.

"Not for  _me_ ," she clarified. "For someone else."

"I... suppose. Is there a reason you are asking?"

"No, just. You know." She shrugged. "What if you get injured? Or what if you get a really bad crick in your back and can't bend over? It'll be too late to teach me then."

It was not the strangest request she'd ever made, not by far, but it seemed harmless enough, and he saw no reason to refuse her.

"Your concern is commendable," he said. "Come here."

She approached and knelt on the ground, watching as he demonstrated, very slowly, the pattern in which the wraps were to be tied. It was something he did as quickly as others might slip on a pair of old shoes, but to a novice, he could see how it might seem more complicated than it truly was. After his demonstration, he unraveled the wrap again and had her try.

She frowned and repeated the motions, and he corrected her gently along the way. It was harder to do this on someone else's feet than one's own, but she managed it somewhat well. The wraps were a bit tight in places, and loose in others, so he had her unravel them and try again. By the looks of it, she was completely absorbed in the task.

It was something to wonder about, why the Inquisitor did half the things she did. She made light of everything, at every opportunity, including herself.  _Especially_  herself. It was hard to guess at times what she took seriously and what she didn't.

But it occurred to Solas to wonder what was going on beneath all of that, what thoughts were truly at work inside her head. Somewhere along the line, he'd probably missed something.

Perhaps guessing was not the correct course of action in this case.

"What  _did_  you do to the coin?" he asked.

"Entropy," she replied distractedly.

"...Entropy," he repeated. He was familiar with the concept, but not how it applied to this situation.

"Entropy magic, actually," she elaborated, looking up briefly to flash him a grin.

"Ah."

"See, that's the problem with that whole repertoire of spells. They're meant to... confuse, weaken, distract, even curse a target with extremely poor luck. You need to practice it on real people to get any good at it, but for obvious reasons, there's not a whole lot of volunteers jumping at the chance. And, well, the Templars never did allow that sort of thing anyway. They thought it would--I don't know, spontaneously turn us into cackling hordes of bloodthirsty magisters."

She wiggled her fingers in some sort of evocative gesture, but this led to the wrap slipping from her hand and loosening around his ankle. She set her hands right back to work before it could slip off all the way.

"So if anybody actually wanted to get any better at Entropy spells, they had to come up with creative exercises."

"Like practicing on someone flipping a coin."

"Exactly like that," she said, delighted. "You'd be amazed at all the silly workarounds we had to come up with at the Circle, because some daft rule forbid us from using certain spells, or because there were shortages of certain materials, or just because the Templars were feeling particularly jumpy that week."

"Fascinating," Solas breathed, almost to himself. "I did not even know you practiced such a school of magic."

"Oh, no, I don't, actually," Pippa said. She looked almost surprised at the suggestion. "Too creepy. The coin thing, though, I always thought that was pretty neat."

"And you know plenty of such... tricks?" Solas asked.

"Now, Solas, not all of them are tricks," she replied, tutting at him. "Some have no inherent entertainment value at all!"

"A clever mind can make use of any tool," he said mildly. "And there must be a reason you thought such things were worth learning."

She tied the final knot on his wraps and ran her fingers over the length of them, thoughtfully.

"Maybe I was bored," she shrugged.

"Then next time you are bored, perhaps I can provide you with amusement of my own. I'm certain I would have plenty of things to learn in turn."

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed, but there was definitely a spark of interest in her expression.

"Spell for a spell?" she asked.

He flexed his feet, each one in turn, and noted how well the wraps were tied. Not exactly how he'd have done them, but still serviceable.

"A mutually beneficial exchange, I believe," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Wagons trundled supplies, refugees and new recruits towards Skyhold during the day, and camped roadside at night. It was only a matter of days until they would reach Skyhold, and with them, the Inquisitor, who rode along.

The journey was quiet, save for a single bandit's nest which the Inquisitor and her companions had ridden ahead of the caravan in order to uproot. The days were boring and in the evening, she mostly spent her time adding notes and sorting through her travel journal.

It was on one such evening that Pippa flopped to the ground, curled in the cradle of a tree's roots, and took out her spell book in order to leaf through it while making faces. 

Solas sat across from her, a book open on his lap, but in actuality, he was not paying it much attention; he was much too amused by the range of expressions Pippa was cycling through.

In some ways, it seemed like she was having a wordless conversation with her tome. Neutral concentration melted into a mildly annoyed lowering of the eyebrows. Then she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. Then she spent a few minutes incredulously mouthing a few words. And he didn't hear it, but Solas knew he witnessed her scoff at least once and scribble something on the margins of a page.

It was a strangely antagonistic relationship to have with one's craft, but from the outside it was certainly entertaining.

Solas did not use a spell book. He could see the appeal, but all the magic he could ever learn was easily contained inside his skull, and perhaps it was also better for everyone that it remained stored there. 

But,he thought, there were things he could teach her--harmless and useful things--and he wanted to do so just to see how much appreciation she'd have for them. She'd shown him the Entropy spell, after all. A deal was a deal.

As evening grew late, and Pippa began squinting more and more at her spell book in the advancing darkness, he produced a wisp and let it fly towards her, lighting up the pages.

Pippa's eyes flicked up towards the wisp, pinpoints of light reflecting in her eyes and making them momentarily unreadable. Then her eyes flicked towards Solas, and she slowly placed aside her spell book. There was a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth as she turned her attention back to the wisp.

She raised her hand, and the wisp whizzed away, like a mote of dust carried by a sudden shift of the air. But she kept her hand in the air, unmoving, only the tips of her fingers twitching slightly, and the wisp approached again.

"How do you make one of these?" she asked.

"It is not so much making them," Solas replied, "as it is bringing them through the Veil. Like reaching for a spell--except you bring through a very small part of the Fade. It does not require much willpower, either, only some amount of finesse. I am told it is useful to imagine it like performing magic in a whisper instead of a shout."

She frowned momentarily, before bringing her other hand up as well. After a few seconds, a flurry of wisps appeared around her hands. Most of them flickered out immediately, as Pippa startled at their appearance, but two remained, and joined Solas's own wisp in a playful, orbiting dance.

"Oh! It  _is_  easy. The Inquisition would save so much on candles..." Pippa mused.

She wiggled her fingers and the wisps moved through the air in wending paths. Controlling wisps was often an imprecise science, and it appeared that she was learning this at the moment. They bobbed around her hands erratically.

She entertained herself like this for a while, and Solas watched as she grew more adept at guiding the wisps.

"What would happen if I licked a wisp?" she asked suddenly.

The question, so bizarre and coming out of nowhere, startled a laugh out of him.

"Not much," he answered. "It would simply be reabsorbed into your mana and blink out of existence again."

"I don't suppose it tastes of anything, either," she said, sounding like she was willing to check.

"Are you feeling hungry, Inquisitor?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She snickered.

"I knew a girl with an affinity for lightning magic," she explained, "and once in a while she'd just make a small spark on the tip of a finger and then lick it. I asked her if that didn't electrocute her tongue, and she said it did, but she enjoyed the sensation."

"Ah, yes," Solas nodded. "Affinity to a particular type of magic often makes practicing it much more enjoyable."

"Just like how you enjoy always returning to the Fade," Pippa said.

The phrasing gave him pause for a few seconds. 'Returning' was often how he thought of it as well--like his waking hours were merely an interruption--but he had never expressed the sentiment out loud and hadn't been expecting her to catch onto it.

"Yes," he replied eventually, "just like."

There must have been something in his voice, because Pippa looked at him seriously.

"I didn't mean it like  _that_ ," she said.

"I didn't take it in any particular way, Inquisitor," he said.

"Hmm." She sounded doubtful, but she didn't argue with him. 

Instead she picked up her spell book and moved to sit next to him. He gave her a sidelong glance, but made space so she sat down next to him with her legs crossed. From this position, he could see the pages of her spell book. They were a mess of scribbled notes, carefully transcribed theorems in ink and penciled-in annotations crammed between the lines in tiny writing, with the occasional diagram crammed in too little space.

"Thank you. For that." She circled a finger in the air, gesturing to where the wisps had been before. They were all gone but one, lighting the two of them in delicate blue light. "Next one's on me, then?"

"There's no need to keep a strict tally," Solas replied. "It seems that you work best when allowed some degree of... spontaneity."

"That's a nice way of saying I'm a mess," she laughed. "Alright then. We'll have a sitdown after we get back to Skyhold. It'll be fun. Like study hall."

 

* * *

 

 

It took a few days to settle in after their return at Skyhold. The Inquisitor was absorbed in catching up with everything she'd missed, and even Solas took the time to catch up on his reading. But whenever she passed through the rotunda, she also made sure to stop, if only for a few moments.

He'd almost forgotten about her promise for a sitdown, when one day she showed up carrying a book in one hand and dragging a chair after her with the other. She neatly placed the chair at his desk, across from him, and sat down.

"Do you have some time?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied, curious where this was going.

"It's just that I found this book, recovered from one of the Circles," she said, placing it on the desk between them. He glanced at the title, but she waved him off. "No, no, this isn't about the book. It's a slog, and it spends three hundred pages building a theoretical framework so overembellished that it probably gave some Orlesian architect somewhere the vapors. But look what I found inside."

She opened the book and tapped the page, channeling some mana as she did. Words flickered and appeared on the edge of the page: a short message, naming a time and a place.

"I remembered that we used to leave messages like these for one another," she said, delighted. "But we didn't use ink."

"A mix of lyrium and sugar water," Solas guessed.

"That's right," Pippa blinked. "How did you-- Hrm." She was momentarily taken aback. "I was sure you wouldn't know this one. Had a lot of people leaving you secret messages in the wilderness? Are you about to tell me squirrels have surprisingly good penmanship?"

She was joking, but suspicion could arise over less, so he smiled faintly at her.

"It is hardly new idea," he said. "Such techniques have been in use for a long time."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he could tell she was working something out in her head. He was almost starting to get nervous, when she spoke again.

"Something more modern for you, then," she said, more to herself. "I'll keep that in mind."

He cleared his throat and pointed to the book.

"In the meantime, perhaps I could show you something?"

"Let's see what you've got," she replied, propping her arms on the table and leaning forwards eagerly.

He turned the book around, presenting the pages to her.

"The key ideas are often obvious by the repetition of certain words," he said, and cast his spell over the book.

Pippa blinked at the page, and then rubbed her eyes. She would be seeing most of the lines blurring out of focus, and some words turn crisp and obvious by contrast.

"It won't always work, of course," he said, "and it helps if you are already familiar with the subject. Focus on the lines, and you will be able to read again.

He instructed her with how to manage the spell, and once he was done, Pippa rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms to disperse it.

"That was amazing," she said, "and it's not that I don't appreciate it. But if I learn this one I will never read another report in full ever again."

"I see how that could be a problem," Solas agreed.

"Josephine would pin me to the battlements with her best quill," Pippa sighed, mock-serious.

"I'm certain not," Solas chuckled.

" _I'm_  not certain she wouldn't," Pippa said. "She  _is_  Antivan, after all."

"Point taken."

They grinned at each other for a moment, and perhaps it was that moment of levity that had gave Pippa some new idea.

"Want to see what else we used to do in study hall?" she asked, and then requested a piece of paper.

She folded the paper, over and over, shaping it into something roughly avian. She paused a couple of times, hesitating as she tried to recall the next fold of the paper, but it was fascinating to witness the way she worked the paper with skilled fingers.

When she was finished, she placed a few simple enchantments on the resulting paper figurine.

"I dub thee, Baron Plucky," she said, and after a beat added, "the Second," perhaps in order not to offend the original Baron Plucky, who was mean-tempered and tended to peck anyone who wasn't Leliana.

Then she launched Baron Plucky the Second into the air, and it floated on papery wings up to the library.

"Remember, don't make eye contact and nobody can prove a thing," Pippa whispered, before bending her head down and pretending to be completely absorbed in the book on the table.

In a few moments, there was a pop and a flash from the upper level, and a quiet, startled curse in Tevene. Dorian appeared at the banister, eyes narrowed as he held a scorched scrap of paper.

"Don't even pretend, you little fiend, I know it was you!" he yelled down. He was trying to sound stern, though he was not quite managing it. "We'll see how you like it, shall we?"

Pippa muffled her laughter and rolled her eyes up only to look at Solas and blink innocently.

"I believe Dorian just promised retaliation," Solas remarked sedately.

"How strange, people I do that to always seem to declare prank war on me," Pippa said, propping her cheek against her fist and grinning.

"Indeed," Solas agreed. "How strange."

 

* * *

 

 

After that, whenever they learned anything from each other, it happened in rapid exchanges, barely more than afterthoughts. It was not so much a progression as a scattered series of moments in-between other things.

She complained about the cold making her lungs ache, and he showed her a spell to ease her breathing, and in return, she showed him a trick shot for making a spell ricochet off the side a cliff without losing its momentum. He showed her a technique for bypassing an enemy's barriers, and in exchange she showed him a clever cheat for using mana more effectively when it was dangerously low. 

In Skyhold, he showed her how to bend the Veil for a hundred tiny, unsuspected purposes, and she, in turn, showed him the spells that were easiest to cast after being Silenced by a Templar and taught him the exact timing it took to ward off an opponent while recovering from a smite. In camp, around the fire, or early in the morning when they had moments to themselves, until it became second nature to them; something they shared without even thinking.

One night, she even wandered into his dreams, the Anchor letting her slip through his defenses as if they were not even there, and she asked to learn about him rather than just his magic. And the next day, she sought him out, and sat across from him at the desk, and they talked about the days she spent unconscious for the first time, in quiet, halting voices.

He did not share any more than he already had, but they sat together in comfortable routine as he studied the mark, just as he used to do in Haven. There was no pressing need for this now, when he was sure it was stable and was not causing her harm, but it was a pleasant task in its familiarity. Perhaps it was the company that made him feel so.

He should have guessed that from there, their involvement could only get deeper.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

For a while now, it became obvious that the Inquisitor was seeking something in particular, perhaps even something she thought Solas could not offer her. 

After defeating the Venatori mages, she would make a beeline for their spell books. This wasn't necessarily any different from the usual looting they did--especially now, when the Inquisition was dedicating so many resources to undermining the Venatori, they never knew what scrap of paper or message fragment lost in some dead man's pocket would provide a piece of vital information that Leliana could use to devastating effect.

But Solas noticed that Pippa seemed unusually purposeful lately. She picked up the spell books and leafed through the pages carefully, and most of the time she'd throw the book back to the ground, but once or twice, he noticed her expression change to something like satisfaction, and she'd take the spell book with her.

He caught her eye after one such incident, and raised an eyebrow in silent query.

"For training," she answered, and did not elaborate past that.

It was hardly an answer, to say the least, but he waited to see how this mystery would play out. It was only after returning to Skyhold, following a positively grueling few weeks in the Hissing Wastes, that he found out the piece he'd been missing. The Inquisitor was seeking specialized magical training at her advisors' urging, and had settled upon rift magic as a discipline.

It was first out of curiosity that he looked into the specifics of the field, and then it was with a vague sense of worry. What they dubbed 'rift magic' entailed much of what he himself practiced. The stylistic similarities were undeniable, even though he'd come by his knowledge of the workings of the Fade through millennia of experience and modern mages had come by theirs over mere months of studying the Breach.

Would increased familiarity with this kind of magic make the Inquisitor suspicious of his own expertise? He was not resentful of the fact that she'd pick to learn this of all things--if anything, he felt a vain sort of satisfaction. She had chosen a field of study that would best help her make use of the Anchor's abilities, beyond simply a means of closing rifts. She had all the power that had once been contained within his Focus, and the pursuit of such knowledge would ensure it did not go to waste.

He would have to be more careful in what he revealed from now on, but this was something to encourage.

 

* * *

 

 

When she next dropped in on him, he brought it up first.

"You have begun practicing new magical forms. Interesting."

She made a pleased sound, and folded her arms as she leaned with her hip against his desk.

"Of course  _you'd_  find that interesting," she replied.

He did not argue with this, and when he extended his hand, she reflexively offered him her marked one. He turned her palm up, observing the Anchor. The difference was minute, but he was singularly qualified to notice it. The magic was starting to adapt to its new purpose, changing to suit its new mistress.

"You seem to be drawing upon the raw substance of the Fade, likely using your mark as a catalyst," he said, and then looked up with a smile. "I use similar techniques, although it took me years to learn them. Why did you choose such an esoteric area of study?"

He launched the question casually, doing nothing to hint his real investment in the answer. She considered for a few moments.

"I hoped that studying such magic would help me better understand the Fade," she said carefully. "Since I keep stumbling into it  _anyway_ , one way or another." 

She was referencing Adamant, of course. It was still fresh in her mind. In the rush of the moment, she'd instinctively reached for a power she was not consciously aware she'd possessed, and managed to save them all from a fall. 

Her tone was light and joking, but underneath, he could sense real concerns. And he could understand her need to know more. 

"While our fight affords little time for formal study, the wise can better themselves even in the midst of battle. Perhaps  _especially_  then. I hope your new studies serve you well," he said, and meant it.

"I hope so too," she said, grinning. "That prank war with Dorian is heating up again. I'm going to need every edge I can get."

 

* * *

 

 

The next time the Inquisitor left Skyhold, she took along Madame Vivienne. Something about having a stern chat with a wyvern, Pippa had explained in that breezy way of hers. He did not mind being left behind, as his research had reached a particularly fascinating stage.

The weather turned miserable after the Inquisitor departed. About a month later, heavy snowfalls started. The roof of a tower collapsed, and the workers' schedules had to be rearranged as repairs and the allocation of resources were re-prioritized. Solas noticed the disruptions only because it meant more people passing through the rotunda, doors constantly opening and then slamming shut with the draft. It made the rotunda even more chill than usual, but it was a discomfort he could tolerate.

Then he got sick. 

It was, in all honesty, a complete shock. 

Solas had not realized until then just how diminished his power truly was; before, any such mundane ailment would have been simply burned up by the magic through his veins. Illness was not common among the ancient Elvhen--at least before contact with humans--and practically unheard of among those as powerful as he'd once been. His first feeling upon waking up with a stuffed nose and a radiating headache was complete disorientation. 

Now he was reduced to sniffling in undignified misery. People gave him pitying looks, and suggestions to either see a healer or lie in bed. Dorian had eschewed all ridicule in favor of suggesting Solas take better care of himself each time they spoke, and Varric not only agreed with the sentiment, but grew exasperated when Solas continued to go about his day as he did when he was healthy.

Cole was not quite as heavy handed, but he had begun leaving cups of hot milk mixed with honey, and Solas had to admit, even if he wished he didn't have to, that it did help soothe the soreness of his throat.

He was a week sick when the Inquisitor returned to Skyhold, and it took her less than half a day to find her way to him.

She already looked concerned as she pushed aside a stack of books and perched herself on top of his desk.

"Solas, are you feeling alright?" she asked without preamble, and put a hand to his forehead.

"I seem to have come down with something," he admitted begrudgingly, because there was no hiding his condition. "There is no need to worry, Inquisitor, I am handling it."

She looked skeptical, to say the least, and her hand slid lower, so the back of her knuckles pressed against his cheek. They were rough and warm; her hand smelled of leather and snow.

"Well, you don't seem to have a fever, at least," she said. "What have you been taking?"

Solas would have huffed, if he still had the ability to breathe through his sinuses. Everybody had been trying to get him to drink some foul medicinal tea, but after the first few sips assaulted his palate, he decided to forgo the concoction.

"I have a few helpful rejuvenation spells," he said, and watched as Pippa's eyes widened in surprise.

"I'm certain you do, but I hope you haven't been using them on yourself," she said.

"I am sick," he said slowly.

"Yes, that's exactly why," she said, matching his tone for condescension. But then she grew concerned again. "Healing spells feed the cold and keep you sick longer."

Solas opened his mouth, but then closed it again without a sound. He felt the creeping flush of embarrassment.

"...Oh."

"You don't get sick often, do you, Solas?" she asked, half-hiding a smile behind her palm.

"I am exceedingly healthy," he said, and cleared his throat. He sounded like a log being sawed. "Usually," he amended.

"I knew it. Never met a healthy person who knew how to handle sickness," Pippa grinned, and hopped down from his desk. "Right, let's get you to your room. Bed rest."

"I don't consider that I feel bad enough to require bed rest," Solas argued.

"But I consider that you feel bad enough that I require bed rest from you," she said cheerily, and gestured for him to get up. "If I say pretty please, would you consider doing it as a favor to me?"

Solas sighed and rose from his chair, picking out the books he was not finished with yet. Once he was done, Pippa took the stack from him, clearly intending to carry it for him.

"I am not an invalid," he felt the need to point out.

"I'm not doing this becauseyou're sick," she replied, "I'm doing it because _I'm_  chivalrous."

He did not have the energy or the inclination to argue with her, especially not over something so silly. He allowed her to do as she pleased. She followed him up to his room and placed his books carefully on the nightstand, and promised to return. He told her it was not necessary, but by the way she waved him off, it didn't seem like she was going to listen.

He changed for bed and barely settled in the sheets with a book on his lap when she returned, carrying a tray.

"It's tea," she explained apologetically, "but I put enough honey in it to addle a bear, so you shouldn't be able to taste it."

He recognized the stuff; it was the foul medicinal substance people had been trying to press on him for the past week.

"You are the leader of the Inquisition, you are hardly the person who needs to play healer with me," he said, as she made him take the cup. It was warm, but not too hot to drink.

"You think?" she laughed. "When I was an apprentice, I had this friend who was really squeamish about blood, so he'd constantly ask me to trade his shift on the healing ward."

"Pardon me, then. I've underestimated the true scope of your experience." The nasal twang to his voice made him sound more petulant than sarcastic, but she seemed amused, if anything.

She stared at him insistently until he drank the tea, and though it was indeed mostly honey by that point, the aftertaste was still repulsive. She allowed him to hand the cup back still a quarter full.

Then she placed a hand against his forehead again. He thought she was checking him for temperature again, but instead he felt the soft waves of magic easing his headache.

"I thought healing spells did more harm than good," he said.

"They do," she said, "but that wasn't a healing spell. You should sleep."

He was going to argue that he didn't feel at all sleepy, but he realized just as he opened his mouth that actually, he did. His eyelids felt heavy, and he didn't protest when she took the book from his lap and pulled the covers over him.

"I'll teach you that one when you're feeling better," she said, "but only if you promise not to use it as a substitute for actual bedside manner."

She blew out all the candles after that, and then he heard the door open and close. He was half asleep by that point.

As he sank into unconsciousness, in the brief moments between waking and sleep, he wondered if he misunderstood the meaning behind Pippa's claim of chivalry.

Then he fell asleep properly, and he forgot.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The servants became more impertinent with the Inquisitor's arrival.

Solas woke up the next day feeling better than he had all week, but he was hardly out of bed when one of the kitchen hands bustled in with breakfast, more of the wretched tea, and a jar of honey. She informed him, with confidence borne from knowing she was obeying orders, that he was to eat, drink his tea, and put on an extra sweater if he intended to stand around in that drafty rotunda all day.

It turned out more difficult than usual to send the servant off--she insisted on making sure he followed the instructions--but he managed it at some point, and had his breakfast in peace. It was more than he usually ate, and he could barely taste much of it anyway, but he even relented to drink half of the tea. It was probably doing him  _some_  good; he no longer had a splitting headache, and he could actually breathe through his nose.

He was harassed with more tea and a couple of other home remedies throughout the day, to the point that by evening, he was thoroughly annoyed.

When the Inquisitor showed up in the rotunda, returning from her visit to the rookery, he was even annoyed with  _her_.

"I admit I did not expect you to deploy the servants against me," he said.

Pippa blinked, in what was either sincere surprise or very good acting.

"I just told them to send you more tea in the morning," she said, and she sounded completely honest. "That's hardly an assault on you."

"Then clearly you do not know how the tea  _tastes_ ," he grumbled in response. 

He was still not sure if she was behind all of this, or if the servants were simply overzealous in interpreting her words. Like most things concerning Pippa, it could have been either way.

"But how are you feeling, really?" she asked.

"Better," he conceded.

She pressed a hand against his forehead.

"Good. We'll have you healthy and down to your usual level of grumpiness in no time," she said cheerfully.

 

* * *

 

 

In the evenings, she found her way to his desk. 

It wasn't even for conversation anymore--he'd recently run out of stories to share with her, or at least out of stories that wouldn't arouse undue suspicion. Instead she brought along the tome of rift magic she'd recently put together, and sat quietly across from him, deep in study. Some evenings, she managed to squeeze in half an hour before her presence was demanded elsewhere. Other times, she spent an hour or two with him, before having to leave.

He thought it was merely hovering, but it continued even after he recovered from his sickness, and eventually he realized that she intended to make this a habit.

It wasn't unpleasant to have her there, he had to admit. Her time was precious, especially as preparations for Halamshiral were underway, and the fact that she reserved this time simply for sitting with him quietly was...

Solas tried not to read too much into it.

It was, at most, a minor puzzle, something which would reveal itself in time.

As his thoughts strayed down this path, Solas glanced up from the book before him and across the desk, where Pippa was scowling at the pages of her tome. Her palm was turned up as her arm rested on the table. She had a pencil behind her ear, and another one in her right hand, stolen from Solas after she forgot where she'd placed her own.

She scribbled in the spaces between lines, adding in her own comments; at the moment, something in the tome must have incensed her, because she struck out an entire paragraph, peevishly scribbling over it until the words were no longer visible.

The Anchor flickered, in tune with her frustration.

On the battlefield, her magic came easily. Nobody who improvised as much as she did could be described as untalented. When genuinely curious about something, no matter how small, she grasped at it with not only full attention, but also a sense of wonder. But it was the theoretical aspect that slowed Pippa down, as she painstakingly made her way to understanding. She was too animate for quiet, patient study, and yet she did it anyway.

He continued to watch her, though perhaps he shouldn't have. His eyes fell on her marked hand next. As she read, her fingers moved in rehearsed gestures. Thin coils of light sprung out, sparks of unrealized magic which sputtered out as quickly as they came into existence.

It was clear that she was practicing a spell in her head. Her fingers moved with purpose, clenching, sending mana surging, and then releasing again. Magic buzzed as it built up, but never released. She did not seem to notice.

He watched, curious to see how long it would be until she reined in the accidental displays. 

Fingers clenched again, green lights flickered; the Veil wavered in the air above them, warped by the building magic. The mages on the upper level were beginning to cast worried looks over the railing. There was the subtle tug of gravity, pulling almost imperceptibly, but the buildup had been too irregular, and Solas could tell the integrity of the spell was compromised. 

Yet throughout all this, Pippa's head remained angled down over the book. She sighed heavily, her fingers clenching--

Then there was the pop of aetheric feedback, as the spell was interrupted mid-cast. Pippa flinched, and looked at Solas, then down to where he grasped her wrist.

She hadn't noticed the magic she was doing until he cast the dispel.

They stood frozen like that for a few moments, Pippa stuck in uncertainty, Solas waiting--he could feel her pulse fluttering under his thumb, and other than being startled, he was certain she was alright, but he didn't release her yet.

"Frustrated, Inquisitor?" he asked softly.

Surprise registered on her face for a split second, before she looked away, muttering something inaudible.

"You seem out of sorts this evening," he noted.

He felt the brush of her fingertips as they circled around his own wrist, nails catching on the material of his sleeve. She gripped into his forearm as she deliberated her response.

"I'm fine," she said, looking down rather than meeting his gaze. "Simply dreading the pit full of Orlesians I'm about to get thrown into."

"Under the circumstances, that is only wise," he said.

The shadow of a smile appeared at the corner of her lips, barely an impression, and lost in the next shift of shadows. But then she leaned forward, dropping the pencil so she could hold Solas's hand in both of hers.

"I know that I've faced--well. Not much worse, exactly, but I'm sure if I think back, I will come up with  _some_  demonic encounter that matches in unpleasantness. It's only for one night, anyway. But if I..."

Her voice hitched, and she fell silent as she traced idle patterns over the back of his hand. He was unsure what to do with this type of contact, and so he did nothing. He made himself focus on her words, instead.

"If you fail, the price will be much too high," he finished for her.

She didn't grin so much as bare her teeth.

"I don't suppose you have some relevant lesson from the Fade?" she asked, looking at him now.

"I--" His head swam, as he attempted to reel in his outward reactions. "No. But you have vanishingly few options, if you wish to put a stop to Corypheus's plans."

"The only way out is through," she summed up.

"Yes."

"Hm."

He felt her drop the thread of conversation as her attention fell back on his hand. It did not seem as if she intended to release him anytime soon. 

"If you require any help with your studies," he offered.

"Mm. Yes. Thank you," she said. "In a bit."

He wasn't sure how to reply, and so he merely inclined his head. He let her have this, whatever it was, and tried not to assume too much of it. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Halamshiral proved a long, grueling night, though perhaps for none as much as the Inquisitor. Dawn would break soon, over a bloodied Winter Palace and a nation at peace again, even if it required forcing the hand of its leaders.

Solas picked up one last glass of fine wine as the party wound down. The gilt had certainly worn off early on, and he could see in the slump of the Inquisitor's shoulders the toll it had taken on her to see them through this event. She retreated to the balcony, leaning heavily against the banister as she looked out over the garden.

He watched the succession of people demanding her attention even now. She exchanged words with the empress's apostate advisor, and then Josephine--though at least the ambassador seemed to be checking in with Pippa out of concern, and not to badger her.

After Josephine departed as well, Solas waited for a few minutes longer, finding himself at something of an impasse. He did not want to bother the Inquisitor, but at the same time, he wished to... talk to her. Congratulate her on her memorable performance this evening.

He took one last sip of his drink and dropped off the glass on a passing servant's tray. Before he could agonize over this decision any more, he made his way towards the balcony.

And then he stopped in his tracks just as he passed through the door.

Pippa had been leaning against the banister, peering out over the gardens intensely, but now he noted that she had one foot off the ground, and her she was putting her weight on her arms, as if ready to climb over. It took him a few moments to process the image before him--surely she didn't intend to vault over the banister?--and by then she heard his footsteps and whirled around.

She leaned back against the banister casually.

"Solas," she said, hiding her sheepishness well. "Ah. Interesting night, wasn't it?"

"You handled it quite well," he replied from the doorway, his feet were glued in place by surprise. "I suppose you must be eager to leave."

There was a long pause. Pippa's eyes shifted to one side, then the other.

"Noooo," she said unconvincingly, "why would you assume that?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then couldn't help the chuckle that came out instead. Perhaps it was the wine. He walked over to her, joining her by the banister.

"If you plan to leave that way, perhaps you should not let the court see you," he said quietly. She relaxed then, stiffness disappearing from her posture.

"Good point," she said, just as quietly. "Though considering how popular I am with them at the moment, it would only be because I don't wish to start a trend."

They shared a smile, but he also noted the exhaustion lining her face, the specks of blood marring the sleeve of her uniform. She'd done everything that had been demanded of her this night, and more.

"That does not mean you can't go at all," he said, and saw the immediate spark of interest.

He gestured shortly, and bent the Veil around them just slightly, making them not quite invisible, but much harder to notice. Pippa beamed at him.

"Right, let's go then," she said, hauling herself over the banister and beginning to climb down a trellis.

He did not expect to be invited along on her excursion. At most, he had wanted only to provide her with cover for her escape. Regardless, he watched her as she reached the ground, and then jumped over after her, cushioning his fall with a well-timed burst of magic.

"Oh, now you're just showing off!" Pippa laughed.

"Of course," he said, and with a flourish, offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She gave him an equally theatric bow and accepted.

They picked a direction and walked through the gardens in silence, putting more and more distance between themselves and the palace. There were sounds of revelry from afar, but otherwise the loudest were the crickets. A cold, early morning breeze rustled through the leaves.

They emerged from lush green shrubbery onto a path with decorative trees and benches along a path. There were lanterns in the trees, but they were unlit.

"Hold on, I like this spot," Pippa said, and reached for one of the lanterns. It was a delicate thing, iron shaped like vines cradling a candle. Veilfire burst to life, casting everything in blue.

Pippa straddled the bench, and Solas mirrored her pose, waiting to see what she had in mind. 

She reached into a pocket of her uniform coat, and after a brief search, produced a couple of napkins, which she unfolded over the bench to reveal a veritable treasure trove of sweets.

"I don't have any of those cakes you like, sorry," she said. "Bit too squishy to stuff down my coat. But," she pointed to a few jam-covered, bird-shaped treats, "those are quite sweet. They have something inside, I don't know, sort of buttery? It's delicious, you should try them."

"Have you been collecting these all night?" Solas asked, as he realized that almost none came from the same table.

"I didn't want them all to be gone by the time I was finished attending to business." She shrugged, and peeled off her gloves. "I've been snacking on the spicy ones all night, though. I had Bull save some up for me. But I thought I should at least try a bit of everything."

He took off his gloves as well, but while she discarded hers on the ground by the bench, he stuffed his own into his sash. He tried the small pastries she'd pointed out to him. Though they were a bit crumbled, and the jam had mostly come off, they did taste good.

"I should have brought a bottle of something, too," Pippa mused as she popped a few sweets into her mouth.

"Of course," Solas said agreeably, as he inspected a crumbled cookie, "you could have stuffed it down your boot."

Pippa grinned and extended her leg, making a show of pondering the logistics of such a thing.

"Can I ask something?" she said.

"I fear there is nothing in the world which could stop you," Solas replied.

"Why the hat?"

He gave her a sly grin, and took off his helmet, turning it to the light.

"At times, modesty can make a person inconspicuous. In other contexts, however, the very attempt to escape notice may arouse suspicion instead. In such cases, it is better to send a message, regardless of whether those receiving it will understand its content."

Pippa frowned and tilted her head, chewing thoughtfully as she ruminated on his words.

"What exactly is the message, though?" she asked. 

"A petty jab, nothing more," Solas replied, letting the helmet fall to the grass. "I doubt many people in the room caught it."

"Something from the past," Pippa surmised. "Something from the Fade?"

"Not nearly so obscure," he said. "The information is readily available in history books. It is a helmet fashioned after those worn by the Drasca. They were an order of--"

"Wait, no, no," Pippa fluttered her hand. "Don't explain the joke! I'll discover the punchline myself."

"You hardly have time for such things," he pointed out.

"Not for research, no, but I am meeting a terrible lot of new people these days," she said. "At some point, it is almost inevitable I'll run into some Comte with too much free time or some fussy professor who will be eager to chew my ear off. It'll be like a quest, or an adventure. But a fun one, with very little chance of spectacular, bloody death."

"If that is where you wish to find your entertainment, very well," Solas acquiesced. "I imagine with all the excitement in your life, crushing boredom must occasionally be a relief."

She winked at him. They picked at the remaining food until there were only crumbs left, which she tossed to the grass, and then she wadded up the napkins and stuffed them back into her coat pocket.

"What about you, Solas?" she asked. "What do you have? Or  _who_ , for that matter?" 

There was a strange note of tension to the question, which Solas couldn't help but notice.

"I have my studies," he replied casually. "The Inquisition. The friends I have made in the Fade."

"Yes, but you can hardly date those."

He was nearly struck dumb by her words.

"Except the spirits, I suppose," she continued. "You never did give a straightforward answer to Blackwall's question."

"Inquisitor," he said, voice rough as he attempted to make sense of this line of questioning.

"Pippa," she corrected, giving him a narrow-eyed smile that sent tingles down his spine.

This was... new.

"I feel as if this conversation is leading up to you... matchmaking, or something of the like," he said cautiously. He couldn't possibly be understanding the situation correctly. Too many years of loneliness, and now his mind was going to strange places.

"Goodness, no!" she said. "I would actually prefer to have you all to myself, if you're amenable."

He blinked, his mind reeling. He had to be missing a joke, but she looked utterly serious about this. 

"You're--" He laughed nervously. "I apologize, you're being surprisingly direct about this."

She rubbed the back of her neck, huffing a short laugh as well. She looked at a point just over his shoulder as she spoke.

"I'm sorry. I just... haven't been able to figure out how these things should be done. I know how I would've done it at the Circle, but I'm not there anymore, and you've never been to one, and I... I thought being direct would avoid... misunderstandings."

"You're suggesting a romantic entanglement. Between us." He couldn't quite believe the words out of his mouth. She was serious in what she was suggesting. He felt heat prickle across his skin, and a new awareness of her proximity.

"Ah, you've got it," she said, pleased.

He picked his words carefully.

"I enjoy your company," he admitted. "You have a vibrant spirit, and I can't say I have not noticed you are a beautiful woman. But I fear that you would not be served well by such a relationship."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Oh. You don't want to," she said faintly.

He shook his head. "That is not the issue."

"It sort of  _is_ , if you really don't want this."

He moved a bit closer, leaning towards her.

"It is something I hadn't considered before," he said, keeping his voice low. "It does not reflect on you in any way. But I care for you--as a friend, if nothing else--and I would never wish to cause you pain."

"I wouldn't wish to cause you pain either," she replied, matching her tone to his. She leaned in, and her expression was softer and more earnest than he'd ever seen of her. "It's silly, anyway. If you want to pretend this conversation never happened, I'll never mention it again."

"I--" He took a shaky breath. "I don't  _know_."

They lapsed into silence, looking at each other, confused and aching with uncertainty. Dawn was breaking behind him, casting Pippa's face in a hazy gray light, deepening the tired lines of her face. Despite this, there was something youthful about the hope on her face, and he wanted to...

To  _consider_.

"Do you need time to think?" she asked barely above a whisper.

"It would help. Thank you."

She nodded. "Do you think maybe I could make my case, before you start thinking about it?"

"If you wish...?"

Mischief danced in her eyes as she replicated his magic from earlier--warping the Veil just slightly to make them unnoticeable in the breaking light.

He did not expect her next to inch closer and press her mouth against his, but then, perhaps he should have. Surprise made him raise his hands, touch her hair and face lightly--he didn't know if it was to push her away or draw her closer, but the soft heat of her lips made him sink into the sensation, grasp at her as he kissed her back. 

It had been too long since the last time he'd been this close to someone, and he allowed himself to savor it for now, savor the mix of salt and sweetness on her lips, the pleasant tingle, the heat that stung--

He pulled back abruptly, touching his lips in surprise.

"Oh!" She touched her own mouth, realization flashing across her face. "Sorry, I've been eating those spicy things all night, I didn't mean to--"

She did not get to finish. He pulled her back in, kissing her even deeper. His fingers sank into her hair as hers gripped at his coat, and he didn't release her again until his entire mouth burned pleasantly.

They disentangled slowly afterwards. He couldn't think of it as a mistake, even when he knew he made it harder on himself to end things there. Even though he knew he  _should_  end things there.

"So." She cleared her throat. "Time to think?"

"Yes," he answered, catching his breath. "Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

 

Pippa was not doing a good job of being inconspicuous, especially when she would abruptly changed course while passing through the rotunda and acting as if she meant to be going towards the library or Cullen's office instead of Solas's desk. Since returning from Halamshiral, she ceased spending time with him in the evenings, but occasionally, she forgot, and had to pretend she hadn't been heading his way.

He appreciated the sentiment, but she was making things more awkward than they needed to be. He stayed later than usual one evening, and waylaid her on her way down from the library, opening the door of the rotunda just as she reached it. She stopped in place, surprised.

"You do not need to avoid me," he told her.

She stared at him for a few seconds, before she flushed darkly and laughed, hiding her face behind the book she was holding. She looked about ready to take a bit out of it, and slumped against the wall of the stairwell, sheepish.

"I didn't think I was being obvious," she said, voice coming muffled from behind the book.

"You were," he replied with a twitch of a smile. "Extremely so. But I would not mind your company, even if I have not made a decision yet. I assure you I would not feel pressured."

"I don't know if  _I_  wouldn't mind, though," she replied, lowering the book and clutching it to her chest instead. "I would still feel strange. Like I was looming."

Silence stretched between them for long moments, but they looked at each other with identical thoughtful expressions, as they worked over the situation in their minds. 

"You should offer me a pretext," she blurted out suddenly.

"A... pretext?" he repeated. It was certainly an idea. "Ah, yes. How are your studies proceeding?" 

"...Studies?"

"In rift magic," he clarified.

"Oh! Oh, yes, they're going well." She cleared her throat. She drummed fingers against the book's spine as she decided how much to elaborate on the subject. "There are some things I need to try out, once I'm somewhere less... populous."

"We should go do so, then," Solas said. "The mountains around Skyhold can offer many isolated locations for experimentation."

"Alright, yes," she said. "Let's do that. Soon. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

His confirmation did nothing more than send her into a fluttering nervousness. She breathed in a deep, shaky breath and exhaled slowly.

"Good. Thank you. Ah... I mean... See you tomorrow." She nodded to herself, apparently satisfied. "Good night, Solas."

"Good night," he replied, but then just as she was brushing past him, he placed a hand over her upper arm.

She stopped in her tracks, rather suddenly considering the lightness of his touch. He stepped closer to her, leaning in to gently press his forehead against the side of her head. It was a friendly nudge, some small gesture dictated by impulse rather than forethought. It came through a bit awkward. She remained in place, staring straight ahead, expectant.

"I look forward to tomorrow," he breathed, ever so quietly, only for her to hear. No echo picked up his words, despite how silent the rotunda was.

He saw the bob of her throat as she swallowed and the slow curl of a smile.

"Alright," she said back, husky and slightly strangled, before finally leaving.

 

* * *

 

The open glade they found was only a few miles away from Skyhold. They hitched their mounts out of sight, where displays of magic would not overly stress the animals, and proceeded by themselves.

Pippa was in very high spirits, possibly having to do with the fact that she wouldn't be harassed by nobles that day. The Inquisition's prestige had grown after Halamshiral, much to Josephine's delight and Pippa's ambivalence. Though usually the Inquisitor was happy to work over the nobles and then serve them on a platter to Josephine, the recent influx of Orlesians into Skyhold had been dragging her down.

Not today, however, as Pippa artfully split a boulder into pieces with a well placed stonefist. She cackled with a bit too much glee as she poked at the remains with her foot. Solas could only imagine with abrasive Orlesian's face she'd just pictured as the boulder.

"I take it that was not what you wanted to try, since the technique was fairly basic," he said.

She turned to him with a shrug.

"Sophisticated isn't always satisfying," she replied.

"Sera must be very satisfied with herself, if that is true," he said.

"I'll tell her you said that and she'll fill all your books with bees," Pippa threatened, but with a wide grin splitting her face.

"I suppose," he said, with a heavy sigh, "there's nothing to do now but throw myself at your mercy."

Pippa gave him a curious, sidelong glance, and by her expression, Solas felt like she was trying to figure him out.

"What?" he asked a bit brusquely, while brushing inexistent dust off his sleeve.

"Even your repartee is like that," she remarked.

"Like what, exactly?"

She gave another grin.

"I'll tell you if you show me how to make it explode," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"The stonefist." She mimicked a punch into her palm. "I know there's a way to make it explode when it hits, but I don't know how yet."

"There are several ways," he said, walking up to her. "I could show you a few, and you may decide which one suits you best."

He took her marked hand (" _May I_?" and she nodded, an exchange which had become second nature to them), and very carefully he began taking off her glove as he spoke.

"This should avoid any mishap, should your control over the spell be less than perfect," he said, stripping it clean off her hand.

She flexed her finger and hummed in agreement. Her hands were calloused from using a staff, fingers blunt and strong in a way that was suited for combat, and he admired the sense of purpose he saw in them; envied it, really. He was tempted, almost irresistibly, to bring her hand to his lips, kiss the palm and taste the magic in it, to feather lips over her knuckles as he maintained eye contact, and he could imagine the half-lidded look she would give in return, as she had given him in the garden at Halamshiral.

And then she bit down on the fingers of her other glove and pulled that one off as well, and the moment passed.

"Can't wear just one, I'd look silly," she muttered, talking around the glove still clenched between her teeth.

"Yes, I can see how much you like to avoid that," Solas replied in a deadpan.

She giggled as she stuffed both gloves in her coat. There was something higher and more girlish than usual in it; perhaps she was nervous. But it made him smile faintly, just for her.

"Alright, show me," she demanded, all business now.

He inclined his head and began his demonstration.

 

* * *

 

Standing over a pile of rocks crushed nearly to sand, with a smudge of dust across her forehead, she offered him the water skein.

"That went well, I think," she said.

"If we are using sheer destruction as the only metric, certainly," he replied, accepting the water.

She laughed, not even attempting to look guilty about it.

"I keep forgetting it comes easily," she replied. "The rift magic, I mean."

He stopped with the water skein at his lips, uncertain feelings twisting his insides. It was another thing he'd lost--the ease of magic, overflowing from his veins, power once as familiar to him as breathing. Skill could compensate for what he lacked, but could not make him feel whole again.

He drank, water cooling his throat and anchoring him to the present once more. When he gave the water skein back, he noticed she looked at him with barely concealed worry.

"Tired?" she asked casually as she stoppered the skein.

"Perhaps a bit," he said.

"I brought a few lyrium bottles," she offered, tilting her head in the direction of their mounts.

It made his stomach churn. Such a poor replacement, lyrium. All but a mockery.

"That will not be necessary," he said.

Pippa nodded, but then she didn't seem completely convinced, and touched his forehead.

"Not coming down with something again, are you?" she asked.

He shook his head and pushed away her hand.

"I am fine."

His tone was harsher than he intended, and she took a step back, but even as he regretted it, he could see she did not take it personally. 

"We should go back," she said instead, looking up at the sky. She was probably right, and not just changing the subject to placate him. It was late afternoon, and they hadn't eaten anything but some dry rations since morning. It would also start getting dark soon.

They walked back to the mounts in silence, finding the creatures where they'd been left: her stout little Fereldan Forder next to his Tirashan Swiftwind, pointedly tolerating each other's presence.

The silence began stretching into the uncomfortable as they untied the mounts, at least for Solas. The day felt as if it was ending on the wrong note. He inhaled, preparing to say something, but no words came out. They lodged in his throat uncomfortably, too many and too inadequate.

"I'm sorry," Pippa said suddenly, and now Solas was confused. She did not turn to him as she spoke, instead busying herself with the saddlebags.

"Whatever for?" he asked.

"I said something, didn't I?" she replied, only now turning to him, with a self-deprecating smile. "I can tell that I did."

"It... was not you," he replied. "You are not to blame for..."

He was horrified with himself, because he felt that if he continued, his voice would break. He truly must have been tired. He did not feel as if he had much of a grip on himself, and it was mortifying. He blinked slowly, humiliation edging into self-loathing.

Her expression crumpled into worry, and she reached out a hand uncertainly, but she hesitated to touch him after his earlier rebuff.

"Hey," she said instead, "ice glyph against the back of your neck. Like..."

She turned sideways, pulling her hair aside and showing him.

He channeled the spell as well and felt the shock of cold against the back of his neck. It really was bracing. It made him inhale deeply, and exhale in rapid bursts. He rubbed at the skin, feeling droplets of melted ice slip under his collar and down his spine, feeling every single one's path like cold nails.

"You learned that at the Circle?" he asked, rather pointlessly since there was nowhere else she could have. But he tested his voice and it came out firm and even. His brief lapse had passed.

"Everybody needed it at some point," she replied.

"Even you?"

"No, of course not," she said, playfully scoffing. "Even as a child, the mighty Inquisitor never  _cried_."

"I was not about to cry," he said.

She was dubious as she glanced at him, but then turned thoughtful. She took her gloves out of her coat and began pulling them on slowly as she considered him.

"Maybe it would help if you did," she suggested, and she was serious for all of two seconds before she continued, "I'll do it with you. Have a good cry together. A lot of things are less embarrassing when done in a group."

"You are being absurd," he said.

"But is it helping?" she asked.

He stepped closer then. She'd put on her left glove, but he took the right one from her, and slowly began sliding it onto her hand, each movement painstaking in gentleness. Head bent down to the task, his forehead nearly brushed against hers, and after he eased the glove on completely, he remained in place, holding her hand.

" _You_  help," he said in the end, because she did, both in concrete practicalities and in some other, undefinable way that made him glad to be around her.

And how long since he'd had someone in his life whose mere presence he could say he savored?

"You do," he added, voice softening with wonder. 

She looked up at him in surprise, and in the same moment he tilted forward, catching her mouth with his, taking her into his arms. He swallowed a gasp from her lips, and felt it turn into a moan, and she scrambled to hold on to him, her grip unforgiving, as if she were dragging him from the darkness. It was, in turns, hard and soft, a mingle of sharp breaths and confused heat, a dizzying blend of overindulgence, and desperate, base need.

He did not need to tell her in words that his decision had been made.


	7. Chapter 7

The ride back to Skyhold was spent in self-satisfied silence, and the occasional giggling on Pippa's part. But the lingering looks they gave each other stopped, in unspoken agreement, at Skyhold's gates, where they began comporting themselves as they did every day until then.

Dorian, Varric and Blackwall were engaged in a light game of cards at Varric's table in the Grand Hall, and thus all three turned their gazes to Solas and Pippa when they arrived.

"There you are!" Dorian remarked. "And here Varric was about to set up a betting pool about where you've been."

"I would've put five gold on elopement," Varric said, shuffling the cards with a sly smile.

"I blew up boulders," Pippa replied, which answer would have accounted for the way she was beaming at least.

"Ah, and then you proceeded to roll around in the dirt?" Dorian asked. "You're filthy."

Eyes shifted to Solas, who was, in fact, not covered in as much dust as Pippa, mostly because he did not stand as close as she did to the destruction. At least this put their companions off the subject of elopement, which, if insisted upon too much, would have turned the tips of his ears red and revealed more than Solas wished of the situation. And perhaps more than Pippa wished, for that matter. Varric might have suspected something between them, but that did not mean he  _knew_ ; he was by nature a gambler.

"You lost five gold on this one," Blackwall groused to Varric. "I believe I was the one who had money on... what did you call it? 'Weird mage shit'?"

"The betting pool wasn't even set up," Varric replied, "and at this point, Hero, five gold isn't going to dig you out of your hole, anyway."

Blackwall made a non-committal sound. "We'll see," he said.

Pippa caught Solas's eye, and gave him a very brief smile that nobody else saw.

"Well, I'll need to be going," she said. "Scrape the grime off, and all. I can probably squeeze in a couple of hours of looking presentable if I hurry, and Josephine might need me to make up for my fun today."

She winked, ostensibly at all of them, but while looking directly at Solas, and began walking towards the door to her quarters.

"What about you, Chuckles?" Varric asked.

Solas sat down at the table.

"I am not familiar with the game," he said, "but if you bear with me, I am certain I can learn."

Upon hearing this, Blackwall threw his cards down.

"I fold," he said.

 

* * *

 

What started that night, more than a 'romantic entanglement' as Solas had described it, was a careful dance. That they were hesitant to be  _too_  public with their affections was something they both wordlessly agreed to, but there were moments that were somewhere between public and private, and small gestures which fit in the brief snatches when nobody paid close attention.

Pippa began spending evenings with him in the rotunda again, and this time Solas appreciated it not only for the pleasure of her company, but also the opportunity to share in passing touches when they drew close to one another, fingertips just barely brushing, smiles exchanged where no one could see. It was not quite a secret, but close enough.

It was in private that they were bolder, and any excuse Solas could make to go to Pippa's quarters, or any time Pippa could spare to drop by Solas's room, ended in hungry kisses and eager embraces. For the first week, they barely even exchanged a word during these encounters, as if any moment spared in talk would waste too much time, and only after the novelty of the situation stopped being quite so distracting did passion give way to some form of higher thought.

"Rumors have started," Solas murmured to her in one such moment.

They were twined together on the bed, fully clothed, but breathless and flushed nonetheless.

"They tend to do that," she replied just as softly, nuzzling his cheek. Her eyes were closed; she seemed to be blindly searching for his mouth in order to resume kissing.

"I have informed Josephine of our status," he said.

He did not hear it, but he felt Pippa's sigh as a long exhale.

"I apologize if I have overstepped," he said, uncertain how to interpret her silence. Disapproval, he assumed. Disappointment, perhaps. 

They had not discussed this in particular, but there were places where their personal boundaries did not align perfectly. At times, it was trial and error, such as when he gently rebuffed her for attempting to kiss him in the library, or how discomfited she felt if he visited her quarters too often. It required nothing but a momentary retreat and a change of demeanor, and it was glossed over by them both.

But perhaps involving other people in the matter was a step too far.

"She would have had to know eventually," Pippa said. "But this explains a very bizarre conversation we had earlier today."

"Ah." He carded fingers through Pippa's hair, but she did not continue. She stood quiet and motionless instead, breathing lightly. It seemed she was about to fall asleep.

"I suppose everyone will know eventually," Pippa remarked.

It was an off-hand comment, one she gave no weight to, but Solas was glad she had her eyes closed so she could not see his expression. He suspected he looked stricken; he certainly felt so. If things went the way of disaster between them, the situation would be unbearable enough without more people knowing of it.

"Or not," Pippa added after a long moment. "I don't know... we haven't talked about this..."

"We haven't talked about much of anything lately," he said.

"We should get around to it." A smile crept across her face, and her eyes fluttered open. "We should get around to a lot of things, really."

She rolled him over, and next thing he knew he was flat on his back and she was sitting perched over him. She gave him a toothy grin, and he felt the way she shifted her weight onto her knees, on either side of his torso, before she leaned down to kiss him. 

The predatory air she was aiming for was somewhat ruined, however, by the way her hair stuck out on one side of her head, and he couldn't help a chuckle.

"I'm very serious," she said, stopping to school her face into sternness.

"Always," he replied solemnly, and reached out to pat down her misbehaving hair.

She frowned thoughtfully, eyebrows drawn together in a look of fierce concentration. Then she sat back up, taking his hand out of her hair so she could twine their fingers together.

"Should I not have said anything to Josephine?" he asked, the question bubbling to the surface on its own.

"What? Oh..." Pippa laughed. "It didn't really occur to me one way or the other. But if you thought you had to," she shrugged. "Anyway, I think Leliana already knows. I'd honestly be disappointed in her abilities if she  _didn't_. Cullen almost certainly doesn't," she continued with a playful glint in her eye, "but let's not say anything. I want to take bets on how long it will take him to figure it out."

If she'd known the smitten way Cullen looked at her when she wasn't paying attention, that proposition would have been almost cruel. But as it were, Solas tightened his grip on her hand and resolved to let word reach Cullen somehow of their relationship. In a perfect world, perhaps Cullen would have been the better option, but in this one, where Pippa had already expressed her distaste for love affairs between mages and Templars, Solas allowed himself to be selfish; to be the person she fell in love with, if he was allowed as much.

"Solas," she said, in a voice so gentle it jarred him out of his thoughts.

She looked at him quizzically. The candlelight brought out the gold in her hair, and the warm tones of her skin, but her smile was radiant all on its own.

Once she had his attention, she stretched out next to him on the bed and drew him in, leaving a trail of light kisses along his jawline. He ran a hand over the back of her head and pressed against her mouth firmly. She was salty sweet, and the satisfied sound she made in his mouth was stirring something deeper in him.

Then she giggled.

"Sorry, just... remembered something funny," she said. Then, attempting to keep a straight face, added, "Do you know the lightning trick?"

"What lightning trick?" he asked.

"I don't know! That's a line someone used on me once. An inappropriate one, probably, or else I seriously overreacted." She snickered to herself.

He gave her a slow smile. His hand skimmed down her body to her waist, and he grasped her hip firmly, pulling her against himself. Magic buzzed pleasantly through her clothing and pressed into her flesh.

"I admit," he said, "that I am equally at a loss as to what trick your mysterious suitor had in mind. But I believe I have a few of my own, which I would be happy to demonstrate for you."

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched as he spoke.

"Now  _that_  would be a mutually beneficial exchange," she murmured, and in the next moment he was upon her.


	8. BONUS CHAPTER: Smut

 

Pippa ambled up the path to the camp overlooking the oasis with her hair still wet and clinging to her scalp. She looked refreshed after scrubbing off several days' swelter and sand off her skin, but there was something more to the lopsided smile she gave Solas upon her return.

"Are you going to turn in soon?" she asked. The question sounded innocent enough to everyone else, but there was something in her tone that Solas had learned to recognize.

He put down the temple keystone he'd been studying--there was hardly anything more it could reveal to him--and looked at her standing in front of their shared tent.

"I suppose I am," he replied.

She flashed him a grin before disappearing behind the tent flap. Curious.

He gathered up everything and packed it back up. They were going to make the trip up to the temple come morning, carving their way through the Venatori who'd camped at its door. It was going to be a full day.

He was still pondering this when he walked into the tent and stopped in his tracks.

"Vhenan," he said slowly, "I do not believe that is your bedroll."

She grinned cheekily at him from under his blanket. By the enticing curve of her bare shoulders, Solas guessed she was completely unclothed beneath.

"Oh goodness," she said, pressing a hand to her cheek and fluttering her eyelashes, "I must have gotten turned around somewhere! But you wouldn't kick a poor lost girl out naked into the world, would you?"

Only the slightest twitch of cheek revealed the smile he concealed, but by the half-lidded look she was giving him, she'd caught it all the same.

"Indeed," he said, beginning to undress, "I might even assist in keeping her warm for the night. The desert can get so very cold."

He heard her pleased hum as he pulled his tunic and undershirt off, and then peeled his leggings off to her appreciative gaze. 

When he slipped into the bedroll, he was just as stark naked as her, and the immediate sensation was momentarily shocking; a velvet press of smooth skin against skin, soft and intoxicating, living warmth that sunk into his flesh and made him keenly aware of his own body and of hers.

They settled into a loose tangle of limbs familiar to them both as they lay face to face, and in the same seamless motion turned into a kiss, deep and heated. He slipped his hand through her hair, cradling the back of her head, fingers tangling in her still-damp locks, and even after the kiss came to a stuttering stop--lips parting slowly and coming together again--he held her there, foreheads pressed together and sharp breaths mingling.

She made small, delicate sounds of satisfaction in moments like this, and her fingers skimmed over his skin in senseless patterns before her palm flattened against some plane of his body she found especially pleasing. This time, she decided she wanted a handful of his ass, and pulled his hips towards her until his hardness was pressed against her belly, trapped between their bodies. Her breath hitched into a gasp at the feel of it.

"Hasty today, aren't you?" he chided, but slipped his hand over the back of a thigh and dipped his fingers between her legs. He did not think the wetness he felt was from her recent dip in the oasis.

She chuckled, husky and warm.

"When we return from the temple, you should join me for a swim," she said, hooking a leg over his hip invitingly.

"Should I now?" The tips of his fingers slowly began caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She shifted minutely, attempting to move his touch towards more interesting areas, but when his fingers stilled, so did she, and then he would begin the motions again.

"I have this fantasy concerning you and a waterfall," she said, skimming a hand up his torso, tracing every muscle along the way. She paused over a nipple, and the way she licked her lips revealed the direction of her thoughts.

"I suppose you must have discovered it just today, as you were bathing?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"You did return in... quite the mood."

"Oh, I'm in a  _mood_ , am I?" She chuckled again. "What are you going to do about it?"

He leaned over and pressed lips against the side of her neck, teasing her skin all the way up to her earlobe, which he then nipped. She gasped sharply in surprise, and then he rolled her onto her back, rising to kneel between her open thighs. The blanket fell off, and she lay naked and spread before him like an offering.

"Why don't you tell me about this fantasy?" he said, hands tracing a path from her knees down to her thighs. 

He gave her a squeeze before dipping his fingers between her folds, and dragging them slowly upwards, slicking her. Pippa's leg twitched as his fingers passed smoothly over her nub, and she made a strangled gasp.

"It's--" Her breaths were coming faster now. She propped herself up on an elbow and reached over to trace a hand over his chest. "It's more the image of water trickling over your skin." He felt her nails trace the imaginary path, and hummed in interest as he began rubbing slow, tantalizing circles around her nub. "And I would-- lick little droplets as you--" She sighed loudly through the nose. "I think I'd be better at a practical demonstration."

"Undoubtedly," he replied. "You will get your opportunity soon enough. Until then, however..."

"You're handling the practical parts?" she asked, leaning back and lacing her hands behind her head. She gave him an impudent smile, as if she didn't know very well that he could have her undone just by the ministrations of his hands alone.

"And I have things well in hand at the moment," he replied, grasping his cock and giving it a slow pump.

Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to his demonstration, and her hips bucked reflexively. Her mirth from before had vanished into singular, hungry focus as she looked at him, and he felt the taut heat of it low in his belly. 

Another slow pump, and her hips bucked again, legs opening wider for him. She was biting down on her lip, trying to keep quiet. He dipped his fingers inside her, and found her even wetter than before. Satisfaction coiled inside him, and this time he worked himself in earnest, want igniting under his skin.

"Why don't you let me?" she offered, extending a hand towards him.

He paused, only now hearing his own panting breaths. A wisp of an idea formed as he regarded her open palm, the curl of her beautiful brown fingers, empty and waiting to touch. So he took her offered hand and led it down between her own legs. Her eyes widened in surprise, but he pressed her fingers into the place of his own, firmly, rolling her slick flesh in slow circles to demonstrate what he wanted. When he released her hand, she continued touching herself in earnest, in long strokes from her nub down to her entrance.

He watched her, hand stilling on his cock so he would not miss a moment of it. But her eyes fluttered closed as her hand began working faster, and she squirmed in place now, heels digging against the bedroll as she approached orgasm. With every wet stroke of her fingers, every twitch and involuntary sound, he could see her get closer to the edge, and he felt the throb of it between his legs.

He watched as her rhythm grew erratic and her back arched, and devoured the sight of her pleasure as it washed over her. It left her slack afterwards, fingers still idly rubbing as she came down again.

She looked at him from under her eyelashes, her gaze working its way up to his face.

"Is that what you wanted?" she asked.

"Always," he breathed.

The movement of her hand became more deliberate.

"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer a more active role?" she asked.

He gave her a smile.

"Turn over," he said.

She did so, and once she was face down on the bedroll, he settled over the back of her thighs. He pushed inside her with agonizing slowness, and in response she buried her face into the pillow to quiet a long moan.

"But perhaps this is not active enough," he said.

"Solas," she groaned.

He thrust slowly, and leaned over her to squeeze a hand under her hips and continue where she'd left off.

"Yes, vhenan?"

"You're going to pay for this," she warned.

He chuckled in response, and did nothing to change his pace.

 

* * *

 

He did pay for it, of course, later as the water pelted them both from above and she leaned over to swirl her tongue over his nipple. He paid in every ragged, desperate thrust as she dragged fingers slowly down his chest, and he could not have been more glad for it.


End file.
